


As the Force Wills It

by prettydeathmachine



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anakin is a (hot) Mess, Angst and Pain and Feels and Horribleness, Blood and Injury, Captive Vader, Count Dooku - Freeform, Darth Maul - Freeform, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Flashbacks, Force Fuckery, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Imprisonment, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Jedi Knight Obi-Wan, M/M, MAY DO more than reference in future, Mace Windu - Freeform, No really Anakin is a Mess, Poor Obi-Wan, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Shmi Skywalker - Freeform, Sith raised Anakin, Slow Build Obikin, Unhappy Jedi Council but what's new, Work In Progress, Yoda who is a troll, and appearances by:, and other such things, and prob some others to add later, canon-typical violence with not typical graphic injury, does Dumb Shit and Suddenly Obi-Wan, eventually, makes a bad pet, not just the kind that'll prob happen via Force Fuckery, obikin, past self-harm, there will be blood y'all, with Sithy goodness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2018-12-19 07:59:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11893413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettydeathmachine/pseuds/prettydeathmachine
Summary: An AU in which Anakin Skywalker is discovered by Darth Sidious. After a decade of being raised to be the perfect Sith Apprentice, by any and all means, Lord Vader intends to further cement his position as Sidious' true apprentice. Besting the only Jedi in a thousand years to kill a Sith is a great idea until they're interrupted and he finds himself at the mercy of Obi-Wan Kenobi...life becomes very complicated, very quickly for both Jedi and Sith.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick note about this fic: I have no idea how long this will be, and I don't have a lot of it written. To make myself work on it faster, I'm going ahead and publishing the first bit as a prologue of sorts. Hopefully, the first "real" chapter will be up within the next week. I also preemptively tagged and rated and so forth for things that will happen in the future, I'll be sure to note when it finally gets potentially upsetting or...um, exciting.

The man did not _look_ frightening. In fact, he appeared kind; wrinkles that pulled at the corners of his eyes and lent a warm wisdom to his face; a soft voice that seemed to promise something good if one listened long enough. But he did not _feel_ safe or kind. The boy wasn’t sure what about the feeling made him hesitant and afraid. But it was one of The Feelings and those were almost always right.

It could be something he was blowing out of proportion. The situation itself was as frightening as it was exciting. At merely nine years of age, the child wanted away from both his planet and his life but having the opportunity presented to him allowed for the reality - that leaving the things he hated meant leaving the things he loved too. Life was a constant struggle on Tatooine, a desert planet that put the Outer in Outer Rim. Even being loosely associated with the Galactic Republic was a joke. The only semblance of the rule of law? The will of the Hutts. And their will was never known to be pleasing - or even vaguely fair - to anyone but themselves.

He knew that the strange man couldn’t possibly be worse than the first master he remembered, an actual Hutt. He didn’t recall all of it, he didn’t want to, but the most horrific moments of the cruelty without reason were clear. Those things left impact craters like meteoroids. Since having the good fortune to be lost in a bet beside his mother, his life had improved but the callousness, the brutality, and the outright viciousness that was ever present as a slave continued to add pits to the surface of his young soul.

Naturally a kind child, he possessed a heart much bigger than his underfed body. His mother had done her best to nurture his gentle, caring inclinations in such a terrible situation. It was one of the reasons why she was willing to put the pain of losing him aside for her son’s benefit; he was a special child, an unexpected miracle, that had a much brighter future than being buried within the horror and limitations that surrounded them. Remaining on Tatooine presented nothing but a series of a lifetime of slavery and dreadful possibilities. Her son was an intelligent child, naturally gifted with mechanics, and eager to learn when it was of interest to him - or when he could sit still long enough. In addition to his capacity for seeing all beings uniquely, his boundless generosity and fierce belief in fairness were the virtues that would do nothing but cause him pain here. If they managed to survive the constant attack on them at all. Combined with his fearlessness in the pursuit of the dangerous adventures that thrilled him, and the rawness of his emotions, this path would seal a cruel fate for him.

An intelligent slave was useful, but also dangerous to their master. A fearless slave was difficult to control and prone to costly injury. A slave prone to both the pursuit of being a good person and facing things with heated stubbornness wasn’t worth the trouble no matter what they could do. Her son would never be able to know in his heart that he was a person while living out his life quietly as an object. He would be used while still useful enough, likely a fun challenge for a time, before being disposable. There was nothing his mother could do to prevent anything ever befalling him, no matter how she ached to. He could be sold the very next day if their master felt like it and here was this man to prove it. He wanted to buy her son, a sickening notion, and free him…and more.

Shmi Skywalker’s son was different. Anakin was different. The way he thought, how he perceived things, his emotions and reactions - all of this was very noticeable at times compared to other beings. She had been told that her son was abnormal, that there was something wrong with him. Oh, how she’d wanted to tell them that there was nothing wrong with Anakin, that if they experienced the world like he did they’d consider themselves blessed. Her son was sensitive to the Force. That was why the man was here, the Jedi had sent him and now they had proof of it. They wanted to offer him another life. A good life for him, and one he wanted. It made it less difficult to give him the choice, to reassure him and dry his tears before he did make that decision final by disappearing from her sight and life, his sincere little voice vowing to see her again feeding fresh tears hidden behind the closed door of the now empty living quarters.

Anakin’s confusing mixture of excitement and sadness was temporarily absorbed by fascination as he laid eyes upon the ship that would take him to his new life. It was beautiful, he’d never seen such a fine ship. His little fingers simply had to brush against its exterior wherever they could. He tried very hard to not reach out and touch things, even other beings, he could ruin things that way, it made people angry, it made them look at him in that way that made him feel strange. He’d rather have his hand slapped and be yelled at than looked at as something unpleasant, diseased, bad. Maybe he was bad - he couldn't help it most of the time. It wasn’t just an impulse, it was a demand to feel the texture that often was satisfied without his even being aware of it.

Once inside the ship, his eyes filled with wonder. His hand continued to move with its own life to touch various surfaces, especially fabrics. It was the nicest place he’d ever been invited into, certainly the most luxurious, and the impression made would be a lasting one. Good things came from this man, he was powerful, an important person, wealthy and opulent in an easy, natural sort of way that wasn’t affronting. The man even had week’s worth of food in his ship - really good food too, that Anakin didn’t recognize. The man insisted it was only for the next few days. More fascinating and wonderful? The man ate it several times a day with no concern for it running out. And Anakin could too.

The impression resulted in the instant but lasting correlation of having things, nice things, and of civilized comfort and power with the man who rescued him. So much so that years into the future certain textures, foods, and the feeling of this new sort of comfort were associated directly with the man, his ship, and everything within it. Being naturally inclined to appreciating things given to him or done for him and filled with the constant desire to please, a more disastrous happening was just as instant; Anakin knew he would do whatever was asked of him, even if it were very difficult, he would not disappoint Senator Palpatine, he would be good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my girlfriend, Chiapet, for beta reading this chapter, enjoying it, and being encouraging.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two inexperienced Jedi Knights seem to have vanished on the Outer Rim planet Lothal. With the galaxy in unrest and the very real possibility of a war looming, Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi is redirected to investigate. Meanwhile, ambitious Sith Lord Darth Vader awaits him. They're both in for a surprise.

 A decade is such a short period of time, a mere blink in the eternal stretch of time, and yet it is time enough for children to grow into adults, for things to be changed beyond previous imagining, and for just as many things to be lost. This is never truer than in the case of those spans of time in which one is formative, fleshing out the blueprint of who they will become. The little boy who had been Anakin Skywalker had spent a little over ten years being molded into a Sith Lord. The youthful softness of his face had yet to refine but he was a powerful, knowledgeable Force user, a living weapon eager to be further unleashed. He did not remember much of his life before his master, what he did recall left him further loyal; to him, his life was singularly composed of training, striving to please, _becoming_.

He was Master’s favorite, but that had made life more difficult. He did not want the things that came with that, but it certainly didn’t stop him from learning to exploit that fact when he could. It didn’t stop him from rubbing it in the faces of his much older fellow apprentices either, not once he learned that such behavior was both pleasing and beneficial in the long run. He was _expected_ to provoke them and fight with them and, eventually, to kill them. His reluctance to do such a thing had quickly vanished once it was apparent that the other choice was to die.

Besides, after the first time, he kind of liked it. It felt good to use his ever-building anger and pain in a satisfying way, a way that genuinely made him feel better for even short time. They’d taught him the finer points of tormenting one’s peers anyway, they deserved it. And, Master praised him, and Master said he’d have no peers one day.

Quite obviously, in Lord Vader’s opinion, he didn’t. He was the only one left, after all, his master’s only apprentice. Perhaps that was not entirely true. Dooku was still there, who Vader would no longer honor with addressing properly. Who was only still alive because Vader hadn’t been allowed to get rid of him yet. Darth Sidious said the old former Jedi’s use had not come to an end, and so it was. Unless, of course, that was some test. He could never really be sure what was and was not some potentially lethal test of some sort. The object of his hatred _had_ been used in that capacity before…

Thinking of _that_ incident presently was useful, it built up his anger and anger was power. It also tempered his excitement, reminded him of what happened when he followed his natural inclination to be over eager.

Jedi were weaker, hindered by their sorely lacking understanding and application of the Force, but it was stupid to throw yourself at one blindly. Particularly one with the experience and reputation that his quarry possessed. This man was not like the other two, they still had the peculiar short hair of the Jedi apprentices but lacked the even stranger braids. The pair of young Jedi Knights surpassed him in age, but that had quickly proven to be no advantage. They were in the wrong place at the wrong time and never returned, Kenobi was there to investigate, however. Obi-Wan Kenobi, his Order’s only Sith killer in a millennium, had been close enough to the planet to be routed to it.

Someone worthy of facing him, someone whose defeat would impress his master, just so happened to be that close after those two idiots walked right into him. There was no such thing as coincidence; this was clearly the will of the Force, in Vader’s opinion.

 

* * *

 

The rock formations on Lothal appeared to come out of nowhere, lightly colored and typically worn smooth by weather and time, Obi-Wan found them reminiscent of fungi in a way. He was not there to take in the landscape, however. He was never anywhere to do so such a thing but had seen more truly astounding things throughout the galaxy than most beings knew existed.

Right then, he would have been happy to see any sign of the two missing Jedi. Other than the empty ship they had left behind them when they...what? Simply vanished from existence? What _had_ they been doing out there, far away from their business in Capital City? He could not help but chide them in his mind; the scant evidence implied they had happened upon something of potential importance and went to investigate, not making contact with anyone, and that foolish decision had cost them. It was his opinion that very young Knights should not be paired with one another, not when the possibility of war kept edging closer to reality daily.

His judgment came from a place of frustrated concern, as he had a very bad feeling that he knew what had drawn them to this place.

Throughout his search of the planet, there had been the distinct feeling of the dark side. It grew from a nagging sensation to the clear, disturbing sensation of being not merely some place affected by it long ago, but of a living Force user immersed in that terrible darkness. Obi-Wan had wondered once, what now seemed to be both yesterday and a lifetime ago, how it was possible for a being so filled and fueled by anger to feel so cold through the Force. In his mind, he had always imagined the Sith to feel hot. That had been before they came out of a thousand years of hiding and he felt it for himself.

Now he felt it again, and it wasn’t just cold, it was the sort of frigid that took one’s breath away when encountered in nature. It was not just anger, it was absolute rage. Rage with an electric crackling of unsettling excitement. As he had swept the planet from the air, it was positively incredible how much of that vile presence was centered around the large rock formation with the abandoned ship, like a tracking beacon in the Force. The absence of the presence of the two Jedi, both in his more typical searching and through use of the Force, had combined with _that_ feeling to leave a disturbing conclusion.

There was, he had no doubt, a Sith Lord on Lothal. One whose powerful presence had drawn the unfortunate duo right to their deaths.

Unlike the Jedi before him, he contacted the Temple to advise them of the situation. Master Yoda, in turn, advised him to proceed with caution, to not allow the Sith to escape, that reinforcement provided by the closest teams would be forthcoming. The closest Jedi, however, were not close at all, and Lothal was located nowhere near prominent hyperspace lanes. That was exactly why he himself had been called on to investigate the situation. As he had assumed, he would be dealing with the Sith alone; the being was slowly, but consistently, drawing closer, there was no option to wait for assistance.

Being stalked by the Sith was good, in a way, as he needn’t be so concerned with walking into a trap or facing his enemy on ground not chosen by him. So, Obi-Wan busied himself with familiarizing the immediate area and establishing a place he felt was advantageous to him, centering himself in the Force, and doing his best to seem occupied and oblivious to the danger.

From his position, it was quite convincing to Lord Vader. This Obi-Wan Kenobi did not look like much of a threat, he looked more like easy prey. Still, he was intimately familiar with trickery and did not allow the thrill he felt to rush him along. Instead, he remained utterly fixed on the Jedi; his eyes observing even the most minute movements, nearly all of his concentration in the Force was equally focused on him as well, both senses trained on any implication of being spotted.

Vader had intentionally made no attempt to conceal himself in the Force in order to better lure him close, and that continued. He had hoped the Jedi might come further to him, preferably into the spine tree forest where he could more easily stalk closer. However, he was obliged to make a short trek across open grassland where he would have been highly visible were it not for being mindful of the positioning of the rock formations and near exhausting use of the Force. It was tiring enough that when he was close enough to keep out of sight with the rocks alone, he lingered.

Kenobi was close enough that Vader could have pounced upon him like a sabercat, perhaps even simply throw his lightsaber and end him effortlessly. Yet, the Sith didn’t make a move. Now that he was not fixed so heavily on the Jedi or concealing himself, the Force felt different enough to give him pause. It was not the Jedi, it something vaguely familiar that he could not quite identify. From his rocky perch, Vader could see Kenobi stiffen and rise fully. The Jedi experienced it too. 

Something was terribly...off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's summary actually goes for the next chapter, at least, as well. It's my plan to keep doing the summaries that way so that it isn't a repeating sort of thing. I hope that's okay? I don't know! Readers, forgive me, this is my first time doing a fic this way! Next chapter will be longer ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, this took forever to post. Hopefully, it isn't terrible and was at least somewhat worth waiting for! Thank you all for the kudos and comments! They're very appreciated. 
> 
> \------------------------------------------------------

Obi-Wan’s lightsaber was activated, the Jedi seamlessly transitioning from being on alert to being poised for counterattack the second that metal legs ending in claw-like toes hit the ground.

Taking in the sight, Vader was equal parts surprised and enraged that Maul had the absolute nerve to not only fail to remain dead but to also show up and try to kill _his_ Jedi. He’d never liked the Zabrak, he was competition, and the feeling had been mutual. Vader had spent a full two years as a child trying to find some way to kill the much larger, well trained, and highly suspicious apprentice. Of course, he had reason to be suspicious. Why would Darth Sidious have need of training these would be apprentices when he had one? He was never sure what their master told Maul their purpose was, but he had quickly come to let them alone. Well, as far as actively trying to murder any of them, he continued to pick at them and always sneered at them, especially Vader, like he knew some nasty secret that he found cruelly amusing. Vader had only been forced to tolerate him for those two years, however, before he was killed.

Killed by Obi-Wan Kenobi. Lord Vader had heard he’d been cut in half, it had pleased him immensely. Apparently, he hadn’t been cut in half well enough to die like any decent being and now sought revenge. 

Maul was appropriately named, in Vader’s opinion, he was like a wild animal gone mad. No understanding of subtlety, as was evidenced by his appearing and outright launching into an attack on the Jedi. In the second he watched the two of them, it ran through his mind that an intelligent person would wait it out and kill whoever was left. It was just as quickly dismissed as a ridiculous thought. Allowing Maul the possibility of taking his prize was purely intolerable.

As Vader dropped from between the pale-colored rocks, Maul stepped sideways and put himself perfectly in his path. Or, so Vader thought, lightsaber activating before he hit the ground. Only, he _didn’t_ hit the ground as intended. Maul pivoted on those grotesque, too long legs, going airborne even as he continued to strike at Kenobi with his ‘saber, and kicked Vader solidly in the chest. Before he could roll fully out of the way and stand, one of those same artificially clawed feet came down on him.

He was pinned, the weight of all that metal and living being shifting intentionally to splinter bone as the claws dug into skin and muscle. Vader was, all things considered, lucky; if Maul hadn’t been fighting Kenobi, if he’d been paying attention to exactly how best to crush him, he might have landed somewhere lethal instead. As it was, the majority of his left shoulder and collarbone was on the receiving end of the oversized droid foot. His shoulder being forced out of its socket would have been audible to him if the sound of his bones breaking and grinding together hadn’t been so loud in his ears. That, and what he assumed had been his own filth laden screaming over it all.

It certainly hadn’t been the Jedi, he was calmly taunting Maul and sounding like he was having a good time doing it. Vader had only caught the end of some quip about Maul’s dedication to surviving, but he clearly heard Kenobi’s accented voice asking, “Not a friend of yours, then?” 

The Jedi’s movements were forcing Maul to give up pinning the Sith, who had busied himself with calling his lightsaber back into his hand with the intent of cutting that damned leg right off. However, the result was the red blade jumping back into life and missing the metal appendage by a hair as Maul was forced to quickly step sideways and off of him. He was too frustrated to even notice that the metal claws had stuck for a brief moment, like he was an insect on the bottom of a boot, before they’d torn completely free.

It was irrelevant, not painful enough to be useful, unlike getting to his feet and joining the joining fight. In the haziness of his memory there was a disconnect between learning how to use physical pain to be stronger in the dark side, to stop feeling it, and when that had actually happened. Vader remembered finding it quite odd how everything else in existence had become so clear _except_ the pain, it was distant and no longer a hindrance. There had been exceptions, but all things had exceptions, didn’t they? The present situation wasn’t one, it was merely annoying that he couldn’t make his left arm do anything useful, that these injuries were limiting, and he had to adjust his fighting style considerably.

Then, there was the instant adjusting to the foreign situation of fighting _with_ someone. Rather, the attempt at instantly, successfully doing so. Lord Vader was not a team player, he had no real concept of working together. Which was quite obvious to Obi-Wan from the second they ended up next to one another with a mutual enemy. While it was impressive to see the young man get up and determinedly try to adapt to that truly grotesque injury, he had to concern himself with a crazed, half mechanized Maul _and_ the mystery Sith accidentally hitting him. 

“Perhaps not leaning on me is better form,” Obi-Wan suggested sarcastically, blocking a powerful strike from Maul meant to drive him, or both of them, against the rocks.

Vader did not appreciate the sarcastic exaggeration, for a second being tempted to behead the Jedi since he was supposedly that close. Maybe just burn his handsome, bearded face a little bit, completely on accident, of course. Instead, he growled, “I will still kill you when he is dead.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” the Jedi returned smoothly. The only part of him that seemed to be perturbed was a small bit of his hair that swept forward to lightly rest on his forehead. Neither the hair nor the smug bastard’s little smile escaped Vader’s attention.

He was tempted to express that he was pleased to not be a disappointment, but there continued to be the pressing matter of Maul. Literally, pressing, as he once more was making an attempt to pin them to the rocks where their movement would be restricted. At least, that was what the Zabrak thought it should be, would be. Kenobi and Vader both thought differently.

However, neither was certain how to quietly communicate that, and, in the Jedi’s opinion, no basis of trust. Vader didn’t see it as an issue of trust, he saw opportunity and use. Perhaps that was why he was the one to, near inaudibly, say, “Let him.”

Not a suggestion, not quite a demand, not something Obi-Wan wanted to acquiesce to. It was sensible, he could see where the Sith was going with this, he’d been thinking the same...but none of that made it any easier to allow himself to be driven between the rocks and the monstrosity that was Maul with him.

 _I don’t have to trust him_ , he thought as he found himself cooperating, _I trust in the Force._ After all, he was a Jedi, and the guidance of the Force was principle to his very existence. So much of a Jedi’s life and training was the lifelong task of ignoring the desire for logical thought, to not think but to trust the Force, to be centered within the Force and be guided by it. That was exactly what Obi-Wan did; if the Force was guiding him to stand with the peculiar Sith, if it was intended that he should die then and there, so it would be.

Centered as he was in the Force, it did not occur to him, or matter, that this moment was one of the clearest, most easily guided ones he’d experienced in over a decade.

Vader, however, was neither being directed by the Force nor fully directing it. While he was more within it than he wasn’t, that simply happened to be his state of being, even as he made demands upon that great power. He saw opportunity, quite likely was indeed guided to it, and he was going to take it. Take it and make it exactly what he wanted it to be, because _that_ was how the Force worked for him; what he saw and thought and wanted became action and reality. He would not die today, especially not by Maul’s hand, he would not allow it. So he willed it, so it would be.

“Keep him off,” Vader said simply, his absurd confidence apparent in his tone.

Kenobi’s reply was equally simple, “Not enough room.”

“There will be.”

The certainty with which Vader spoke met with no opposition in the Force, and Obi-Wan was not the least bit surprised when the flesh and metal Zabrak fell in on himself slightly and stumbled a few steps backward. Even the surge of power that came with the Force push felt unsurprising to him; it was what it was, and he was part of it all. Just as a part of him was the electric impulse of muscle movement from both Maul and the young Sith, alerting him preemptively of where those movements were going, exactly how they would become action. He was countering Maul’s powerful, rapid-fire, defensive strikes without thought, as the Sith to his left became nothing but a dark blur of motion.

Through the Force, the Jedi saw, _felt_ , the motion. As Kenobi’s blade intercepted Maul’s, Vader spun and dropped simultaneously, was on the other side of Maul before the sparking blades had parted. He’d moved so quickly that Maul’s body only began to shift and slide into three pieces after he’d risen, and Vader was still in motion. The crimson blade again went through the trisected Maul, missing Obi-Wan’s chest by a millimeter, and only because he moved.  


	4. Chapter 4

The momentary truce was clearly over, the Sith finding Maul’s body to be little obstruction. It was distantly perturbing to witness, how expediently and easily the young man moved on to his next target. How he had truly expressed neither satisfaction nor the briefest of pauses over killing the Zabrak, not even relief. Just on to the next pressing matter. It would have been eerily droid-like if it were not for the combination of seething rage and rapidly intensifying exhaustion coming off of him. _Those_ observations were not distant to Obi-Wan, they were a perfect combination for mistakes to be made.

It felt disturbing to use a corpse, rather a piece of one, as a tool in a fight, but...well, it was falling back on the Sith anyway. In the second between the lightsaber being thrust through the body at him and having moved backward, the Jedi landed a kick above and to the side of where the lightsaber was burning through the recently dead flesh.

Instinctively, Vader reacted to the sudden weight and transferred blow by trying to shove the torso off of him with his shoulder. That was, considering the state of the shoulder he used, a terrible mistake. With no small amount of profanity, he nearly ended up in the dirt for the second time, stumbling backward in a truly ungainly fashion. Perhaps, trying to catch Kenobi off guard and attacking him before Maul’s body parts hit the ground was not such a brilliant idea. 

Vader was indeed questioning the intelligence of this entire fiasco. He was highly aware of the fact that he’d likely just wasted critical effort, that he was rapidly bleeding out, and Kenobi looked like he hadn’t even broken a sweat. Really, all the bastard had to do was avoid him long enough for him to simply drop dead. Even the Force was quickly feeling dull, oddly, distressingly, distant. That certainly didn’t mean he was intending to stop, there really wasn’t any point in that, in his opinion.

One which was not shared by the Jedi, despite his really wanting to. It was the sensible thing to do, wasn’t it? This man had undoubtedly killed, at least, the two missing Jedi, clearly intended to kill him, and he certainly wasn’t giving up. The Sith might be minutes, if he were lucky and he did not appear to be lucky, from blacking out, but he remained armed and stubbornly vicious. He’d also completely gotten himself into this situation. There was absolutely no reason to feel the slightest bit hesitant here. 

So, why did he keep feeling that way? 

The first few strikes he deflected were unbelievably quick and powerful, the young Sith was putting everything into his last ditch effort and it didn’t last long. Soon he was staggering, his attacks uncoordinated and wild, desperate, the sharp focus going out of his eyes. Still, Obi-Wan didn’t take any of the multitude of opportunities to quickly dispatch him. Though the ease of it at this point would have felt wrong somehow, that wasn’t the issue. A lifetime of instruction to be attentive to what the Force was telling him simply could not be ignored. The Force was quite insistently telling him that this unhinged young man should remain alive.

Why did the Force _always_ have to be so complicated?

 As the Sith struck at him again, he staggered too much to recover from it and went down to his knees. Still, he took another wild swipe at Obi-Wan.

“You can’t possibly believe you’ll accomplish anything now,” the Jedi said, partly out of a desire to reason with his determined enemy and partly out of sheer, disturbed, amazement.

Holding his ‘saber ready for another attempt, Vader panted out, “Doesn’t...matter.”

Obi-Wan began to speak again, but damned if the man wasn’t trying to get back to his feet, nearly pitching forward face first. It was the perfect opportunity to knock him the back of his stubborn skull with the end of his lightsaber, and he took it. Vader crumpled and went down as though he had an off switch that had been pressed.

 

\---------------------------

 

Nearly four hours later and in hyperspace, Obi-Wan was watching the unconscious Sith and trying to wrap his mind around the fact that he was bringing him back to Coruscant with him, _to the Jedi Temple_ with him. Furthermore, he’d more or less lied to call off the assistance he had coming as well as to a good deal of the Council. No, he had not found the missing team, but he had found something that could lead them to the elusive Sith Lord they’d come to know only recently as Darth Sidious. No, he could not, at this time, elaborate. He must bring this thing to the Temple immediately.

That was not exactly a lie. He just was bringing someone instead of something.

Of course, that was if the man survived long enough for them to get that information in the first place. It had been a delicate balance, getting him enough treatment to keep him stable until they reached the Temple while keeping him sufficiently out, and it continued to be a balancing act once alone with him again and on the way. Obi-Wan had no doubt that the other man would fly right back into fighting him if conscious enough, and he’d only undo the very shoddy, temporary work done to keep him from succumbing to blood loss and shock.

He hadn’t been doing well again, stirring and muttering as he had been while the back alley healer began to work on him. Obi-Wan hadn’t been paying much attention to what he said then, the whole thing felt wrong, dirty. He’d not been the most exemplary Jedi since the death of his master, but finding illegal medical care for evil prisoners that was intentionally just enough and then mind tricking the healer afterward wasn’t something he felt good about. Reminding himself over and over that this was, ultimately, for something potentially so important as eradicating the Sith hadn’t entirely made the nasty feeling go away.

Part of that was definitely, he could admit now in the silence of both decision and space, the Sith himself. Why could he not _look_ wicked and vile and like everything wrong in the galaxy? In motion, he had at least appeared dangerous, and the immense power about him was indeed frightening in retrospect. The entire mass of terrible, devouring darkness he’d felt and thought to be a part of the landscape itself, perhaps a long-hidden Sith temple or powerful artifact, was this single being. This single, well trained, self-destructive, and highly determined being. Yes, it was frightening.

That had nearly gone away too, though. Now it was merely a shadow of itself, menacing in a lurking sort of way that made one’s hair stand on end. No comparison to what he had felt before. It fit more with what was visually before him, what he’d observed altogether over the last few hours.

On picking up his captive, he had been surprised to find that carrying him was more awkward than anything. Despite his height, there wasn’t much to the young man under the dark robes. With them opened, it was further apparent that he hadn’t been in particularly good condition to begin with. His bones protruded too sharply through dwindling lean muscle and skin littered with a variety of scars, and there was strange damage to the skin where it met with his prosthetic lower arm and hand. 

Combined with the recent memory of those things, watching him now...no, he did not look at all like what he was. He looked like the victim of a war, and perhaps that was he had been before. It would make sense; if he were born on some Outer Rim planet outside of true Republic control, he wouldn’t have been found by the Order. Communal wars, small civil wars, and tribal wars were common in such places. An angry, young, oblivious yet powerful Force user made all the worse for the experiences he likely had was a perfect acquisition for a Sith.

Yet, as much sense as it made, it didn’t align well with either the Sith’s use of the Force or his youth. He was comfortable with the Force in a way that inexperienced Force users and those not raised with knowledge and training simply were not. He couldn’t possibly be as young as he looked now, devoid of the rage that animated him, he appeared adolescent, but he was unquestionably young. Too young to have recently come into such use of the Force, the sort that had become instinctual. Lacking in control, decidedly wild, yes, but how much of that was simply the dark side? The Zabrak had been like that as well, and the troubling reports they’d had over the last decade strongly implied that such was a quality of the modern Sith.

Obi-Wan had the disturbing suspicion that the young man had probably never been anything but immersed in the dark side, that he had been raised this way. Despite his, clearly untrue, reputation, he didn’t know much of the Sith. It was not pertinent information beyond a point, something he had subsequently challenged to no avail. However, he knew that millennia ago they had stopped that practice, that they had found good cause to stick to acquiring an apprentice already distorted by life. When one practiced a system of having only one master and one apprentice, it was a good portion of a lifetime to waste raising a child to the role of your apprentice if they were a failure.

Not to mention that having multiple apprentices at a time was a violation of such a thing. This Sith had known the Zabrak. There was no question about that, the explosion of disgust and wrath, and he was certain jealousy, was personal. He hadn’t been the replacement, at least not after the fact. While there were numerous varieties of dark side users in the galaxy, none of them liked to be associated with one another. What began as a suspicion of something morally objectionable was quickly becoming something more distressing. Did this imply the master was some sort of rogue Sith Lord with many apprentices? How many more of them _were_ there out in the galaxy if so?

All of it made him feel like he was getting an immense headache. It also made him almost glad that, in the end, it would not be him sorting this all out. Almost...and he chided himself for that, for feeling something like annoyance that none of this would be his business soon. He was chiding himself more for the uncomfortable feeling that he didn’t entirely trust that the Council would make the right decisions when the Sith began to stir more, mumbling and muttering fitfully.

Obi-Wan was torn; he didn’t want him alert, even if he had Force inhibiting binders on he had no doubt the man could cause too much trouble for the small size of the ship, but he certainly didn’t want to kill him with more sedation either. He wasn’t certain how he kept almost coming around in the first place, his pulse was frighteningly weak and his breathing was so shallow that it seemed nonexistent at times. No, it was clearly a terrible idea to do anything that might suppress such vital things further.

Though, as the young man struggled against unconsciousness and began to mumble about his mother, rather, mumble _for_ her, Obi-Wan wondered if perhaps that was not the kind as well as logical thing to do. Bringing him to the Temple was dangerous, and what would become of him? He most certainly wouldn’t be allowed to go free. If his earlier behavior was any indicator, he wasn’t going to be cooperative. He wasn’t just obstinate, he didn’t appear to be sane. Then there were the sounds he occasionally made around his largely incoherent mumbling, he was obviously feeling significant pain.

Yes, he could quickly, simply, end all of that. The Sith wouldn’t even know what happened...and he _was_ a Sith. There was a reason why they didn’t take such corrupted beings prisoner, it wasn’t as if he were salvageable. Just useful. Which was why he sighed and once more resigned himself to not doing himself and the Sith a favor and ending him.

“You’re quite the problem, you know,” Obi-Wan said, leaning back and running a hand through his hair. He’d only needed to give voice to it, he hadn’t been expecting a response.

“Yes.”

It wasn’t a very loud or coherent sounding reply, but it was there.

If he could hear and understand him at all, there was a possibility that he could get information from him then and there. He seemed to be considerably more inclined to cooperation at the moment, after all. So, Obi-Wan gently but firmly asked, “Can you hear me?”

The Sith stirred more, eyelids fluttering in an as yet failed attempt to open. For a moment, Obi-Wan was certain he was simply going to wake up and was regretfully prepared for things to become unpleasant. Then the man muttered again, “Yes, master.”

Only, it didn’t really stop there. Amid the bits too low and garbled, he was asking if he had been there long enough and if he could come out now. Asking, on the verge of pleading, obviously neither awake nor asleep and presumably recalling some memory. Obi-Wan truly didn’t want to know, but at least he _was_ answering.

He swallowed the deeply uncomfortable feeling of playing along with someone else's nightmares, and said, “After you’ve answered my questions.” The mostly unconscious man’s brow furrowed further and he mumbled a bit of another yes. Obi-Wan continued, “Who are you?”

“No one, master.”

He really should have expected that, and adjusted the question.

“What is your name?”

That sent the man off into fighting to wake again, as well as making attempts to curl in on himself that only resulted in writhing about. Why this question was so distressing, or difficult for that matter, was beyond Obi-Wan, but he was getting the impression that there wasn’t going to be any question easy or simple enough. He could have sworn that in the fevered muttering that rapidly came in response was _I don’t know_ , repeatedly. Maybe he really didn’t in this state, but somehow that didn’t seem the case. Then, in that mess of disturbed mumbled came an eerily clearly spoken, “Vader. Darth Vader.”

It was perturbingly conscious, decisive, an affirmation of some sort. The fitful stirring stopped with it, and his eyes slid open. His muttering had been bad enough, but the unfocused, blank stare was unnerving and made all the more so for one pupil being unaffected by the light, remaining blown wide in its golden setting. Obi-Wan had hit him hard, but in retrospect, he might have hit him a little too hard. That was assuredly a sign of being severely concussed, and something Obi-Wan was choosing to focus on in order to ignore the _completely_ impossible feeling that Vader, apparently, was doing...something through the Force. It genuinely felt as though the weak, lurking feeling of his presence swelled and was slowly sucking the very air from the cabin.

There was absolutely no way he was actually doing that, of course.

He _was_ speaking again, though, “Darth Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith, one true apprentice of Darth Sidious.”

Damned if he didn’t manage to sound quite proud of that, almost as obscenely confident as he had sounded hours earlier. Even as his eyes jerked sideways and back again...and didn’t stop. Neither did Obi-Wan, because it was entirely possible that he was going to die or become uselessly comatose and this may be the last opportunity to get anything out of him.

“Where is your master?” He demanded more than asked this time. He got an answer, of sorts, greatly jumbled and slurred, and strangely repeated like a broken droid before Vader’s eyes rolled up into his head and Obi-Wan was distracted by dealing with the violent seizure that commenced.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have this feeling someone is going to say it, so lemme just be preemptive here: I'm 100% aware that Obi-Wan is not totally chock full of Obi-Wan Kenobiness. It's intentional, here down the magical road of canon divergence where we pick at what shaped a character and see just what we've altered when we shred those things, glue some together, sprinkle a little glitter on it. 
> 
> It's black glitter okay.


End file.
